untitled2
by bookwormqueen
Summary: This just kinda popped into my head and wouldn't go away. I'm still working on one last chapter. It's not supposed to make sense until later, if at all. PLEASE REVIEW, even just to say you hate it.
1. Dream    or Reality? 1

Delenn woke to complete darkness. The only clues to her location were the nearly imperceptible _thrum_ of starship engines and the soft _whir_ of the ventilation system. The surface beneath her was hard and cold – the deck of a starship. She had the sense of a vast room, but without light it was hard to tell. She stood, wrapping her one blanket around her, shivering slightly in the chill air.

A door hissed open. Delenn turned toward the sound as footsteps echoed through the unbroken darkness.

"Who's there?" Her hesitant query received no reply. The footsteps continued and she began to discern their origin amidst the echoes. The pattern was familiar, yet she couldn't place it. Someone – someone she knew, could recognize by sight, perhaps even by voice – was coming for her.

Four hundred sixty-three steps later, the footsteps ceased. Delenn could sense the other's presence, close, warm, unthreatening.

"Who are you? Why am I here?" Only after the words left her mouth did she realize how inane her questions sounded. It didn't matter – there was no response.

After what seemed an eternity, her visitor stepped closer – close enough to touch, then a step closer. One more step and he – he? yes, he – was in her space, practically touching her.

And then he did touch her. Feather-light, his fingers touched her face, her hair, her crest. She flinched slightly at the intimacy of it, and the fingers withdrew, though he did not step away. She wanted to move away, to step back, but she couldn't make herself move. Hesitantly, the fingers returned, touching, stroking, caressing. Slowly the fingers gained more confidence as she held still. The next move was hers.


	2. Dream    or Reality? 2

Delenn stood in the darkness, her blanket wrapped tight against the cold, as an unidentified someone gently caressed her face and hair. Her mind whirled with questions. Who had abducted her? Why? Who was here, in her cell, touching her? What did they want? She wanted to move away, to turn and run, but where could she go? Her cell seemed to consist of one vast, lightless chamber, and without knowing where the exit was she had no chance of escaping on her own.

The other's fingers were gentle, calming almost, asking nothing more than to be allowed to touch. After a while, it became hypnotic, and Delenn found herself relaxing. She closed her eyes, following the fingers' paths with her thoughts, focusing, . . . Something warm, smooth, supple was moving beneath her hands. With a start, she realized she had begun imitating her companion. She touched his crest, feeling the visually familiar shape, slowly realizing who was with her. Why? Why was he here? She let her hands fall. She had suspected for a long time, but she had never thought he'd do something like this. Was he also a prisoner, perhaps influenced somehow to do this?

His hands tightened in her hair, drawing her closer. Their lips met. He was passionate, as though he needed her, needed her cooperation, her surrender. She held back, trying to pull away yet unable to force her body to obey. He pulled back, waiting for her response. She leaned away from him, afraid – afraid of what he wanted, what he might do; afraid of how she might respond, how she might feel. He supported her, kept her close, and simply waited.


	3. Dream    or Reality? 3

Delenn shivered in the cold, despite the warmth of the arms around her. He held her tighter, rubbing her arms and back gently. He was nonthreatening, not suggestive or demanding – simply trying to keep a friend warm. And it was working. As she gradually warmed up, she relaxed, leaning into him. Her thoughts drifted, away from the here and now. She recalled her daydreams, fantasies really, and for a moment she forgot where she was, who she was with, lost in her own imagining. This was what it felt like . . .

Her hands touched his crest, and Delenn remembered where she was, who she was with. She pulled away, running from him blindly until she tripped and fell, curling into a ball. This couldn't happen. It went against everything she had been taught, everything she believed. She heard him approach, knew when he knelt beside her. One hand reached out hesitantly to touch her, and she recoiled, ashamed and frightened. The hand settled on her shoulder, offering warmth and comfort. All she had to do was betray herself.


	4. Dream    or Reality? 4

Time was meaningless in that unending darkness. Nestled against her unwanted companion's welcome warmth, Delenn realized she must have fallen asleep. That was unacceptable – she could not afford to do it again. She tried to get up, to move away, but he tightened his grip. She had tried to escape; he had caught her; clearly he meant not to let her go. She struggled uselessly, unwilling to use excessive force; he was, after all, her friend and confidante. The more she fought, the more futile it seemed, until finally she stopped.

He kissed her then, and it left her breathless. Part of her, the part that wanted to break free, to escape before things went any further, was ashamed – of her failure to escape, of everything that was happening, and of how it made her feel. Another part of her recognized the pleasure he gave and enjoyed it, reveled in it, wanted to return it.

Even as she argued with herself, he resumed his exploration by touch. His warm fingers against her cold skin felt good – and added to her inner turmoil. He touched her in ways and places no one ever had before, and his gentleness and reverence gave the experience an aura of goodness, rightness – holiness. But on some level, it still felt _wrong_. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, how she'd imagined it. How she wanted it to be. _Who_ she wanted it to be.


	5. Dream    or Reality? 5

He wasn't restraining her anymore. The realization passed through Delenn's mind slowly. His hands were busy doing other things (_more pleasant things_, whispered that traitorous corner of her mind). She contemplated this for a long moment, then bolted.

It took longer than she expected before he came after her. When he finally did, he caught up quickly. She felt his fingers graze her shoulder in the same instant she felt fabric sliding under her foot. She fell, cracking her head on the deck. He tripped, sprawling on top of her, slamming her head into the floor.


	6. Dream    or Reality? 6

"Delenn? Delenn, please wake up! Delenn!" She was cradled in his arms, head resting on his shoulder. Why did he sound so worried? She tried to move, to reassure him, but it was so hard. Her body was there, she could feel it, but somewhere between her brain and her muscles there seemed to be a short circuit. She could hear him calling her, begging her to wake up, but she couldn't figure out why. What had happened? She tried to remember.

Darkness. Silence. Cold. Footsteps, approaching. Fingers, touching. Kisses. More touching. Running, falling. Waking up. More kisses, touching. Running. Falling. Pain, in her skull. As the memories came back, so did the pain, physical and emotional. With a cry, she buried her face in his chest. He held her close, whispering her name.


	7. Dream    or Reality? 7

"It is now 0600 EST. This is your programmed wake-up call," announced the computer. The lights came on gradually.

Delenn was in her own bed, in her own quarters on Babylon 5. She got up slowly, remembering her fall. There was no pain, no headache. She shook her head hard, testing. Nothing. She looked in the mirror, feeling with her hands. No sign of injury. What was going on? Had it been a dream, a nightmare?

"Computer, what is the date?" Whatever had happened, it felt like an eternity.

"Today is December 4th, 2260, Earth calendar." Only a day? An eternity in darkness, and she was only missing 24 hours? _Had_ it been real? Or was it some sort of projection, a dream or hallucination? Delenn pondered this as she got ready for the day.

Lennier arrived with breakfast and the day's appointments just as she finished. She watched him carefully as he listed her schedule, searching for some hint about her experience. She found none. Confused and distracted, she dismissed her aide, brushing aside his concerns, and left her quarters.

* * *

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A/N: Was it real? Or did she dream it? Without any additional clues (even I, the writer, haven't figured it out yet), you (the reader) must decide what you think. I can only give you the following hints:

1. When Delenn hit her head (twice), it was enough to crack her skull and give her a nasty concussion.  
2. No matter how hard she looks, Delenn never finds any clues in Lennier's behavior, words, or body language to indicate that her experience was real. As far as she knows, only she remembers what happened, real or not.


	8. Missing Scene: Racing Mars

Delenn closed the doors separating the living area from the sleeping area and turned to John. He looked so lost and uncomfortable. Smiling, she stepped close to him, pulling him down for a kiss. He crushed her to him, letting his passion express itself. He pulled at her clothes, wanting her. She stepped back, smiling and holding him at arm's length. Slowly, teasingly, she unbuttoned his jacket, pushing it off and letting it drop to the floor. He tried to help, to undress her, and she stopped him, still smiling.

"Let me do this," she whispered, kissing him lightly. She continued to remove his clothes, despite his repeated interruptions, until he stood before her, completely naked. She stepped back, admiring him for a long moment, then pushed him playfully onto the bed. He lay back, amused and obedient. She kissed him, long and sweet, and stepped back. He started to get up, and she fixed him with a glare. "Stay." He settled back, content for the moment to let her lead.

For a moment Delenn simply watched her intended, wondering what she had done to deserve his love. She shook her head slightly – it didn't really matter. Slowly, seductively, she removed her clothes, one layer at a time, until she stood before him, naked, letting him get a good look at her. She slid onto the slanted surface of the bed, John watching her every move. She reached out her hand, her fingers lightly touching his arm. She let her fingers trace random patterns on his skin, gauging his reaction. For long moments he lay still, letting her explore, then suddenly he exploded into action, pinning her on her back, wrists caught in his hand above her head as he kissed her. She surrendered to him, to his touch. Thought fled, and she knew only pleasure.

* * *

Her world had narrowed to almost nothing. Only his touch existed. Confident, gentle, assured of the intended results, his hands and mouth danced over her body. _This_ was right, and good, and exactly what and who she wanted. Delenn tried to give him the same pleasures he offered her, but he stopped her, catching her hands, capturing her mouth with his. She had never felt this good, this _alive_ before. He seemed to know exactly how to please her, how to intensify that pleasure until it hurt. She cried his name as her universe imploded, and she blacked out.

* * *

Delenn became aware slowly, readjusting to a calmer existence. John was watching her, possessively, one hand playing with her hair. She tried to speak, to do anything but lie there, but she had no words, no thoughts, no will to move. He smiled at her, pulled her close, kissed her softly. 

"How are you?" Even his voice gave her pleasure. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to get her brain to think.

"Is it always like that?" she managed finally.

"No." He smiled, kissing her nose. "Sometimes it's better." Better? How could it get any better? As she tried to wrap her brain around the thought, he held her close, his face buried in her hair.

Trying to think woke her brain up, but did nothing to help her understand. Giving up, she began kissing him – any part she could reach without leaving the safety of his arms. Laughing softly, he pushed her away with a mock-growl. She pounced, pinning him, and showered him with kisses. She worked her way down, kissing every inch of his skin as he shifted obligingly to give her access. Her hands trailed after, feeling him, noting what made him twitch, what made him moan, or gasp, or otherwise react. He let her explore on her own for a while, then gently, wordlessly guided her, helping her discover what he already knew he liked. It was all new to her; she had forgotten that he'd been married before. She cautiously tried what he asked, unsure of herself, not certain if she liked it. It was strange, alien to her, yet he so clearly enjoyed it. His hands were wrapped in her hair, his grip painfully tight, but she ignored it, concentrating only on pleasing him. He tugged her upward and she resisted, determined to finish what she'd started. She heard him call her name as his body tensed, hands tightening in her hair. She cried out in pain, choking, and pulled away, fingers scrabbling at his wrists. He let go suddenly, and she slid to the floor, hands covering her head. What had gone wrong, to make him hurt her like that? She stayed there, curled protectively into a ball, whimpering.

* * *

"Delenn?" John knelt on the floor beside her, wondering what had gone wrong. Had he forced her to do something she didn't like? "Delenn, I'm sorry. Talk to me, please, Delenn? Tell me what's wrong." He touched the back of her hand, lightly, and she flinched. Hurt, he pulled back. "Delenn? I didn't mean to make you do anything. I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, talk to me." He reached out again, and this time she didn't react. Gently, he moved her hands, tilting her head to meet her tear-filled eyes. "What's wrong?" 

The tender, worried look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. With a sob, she collapsed against him, feeling his arms encircle her, keeping her safe, even from himself. After a while he lifted her up, set her down on the bed. He propped himself up on one elbow, watching her, his free hand resting on her hip.

"Now, talk to me. What happened?" The tone of his voice left her no option but to explain.

"You pulled my hair." It seemed inadequate somehow, so she tried to elaborate. "It hurt." Suddenly she realized how childish that sounded, how weak it was as an explanation. She just hoped he wouldn't laugh at her.

He didn't laugh, didn't even smile. "I'm sorry." He even looked it. "I'll try not to do it again." He kissed her softly. "I love you." He didn't give her a chance to reply, just kissed her again and again, covering her with his body, his hands threading through her hair. She closed her eyes, lost herself in the oh-so-pleasant sensations he created, her hands roaming his back, touching, caressing, loving.

* * *

Her world once again narrowed until it consisted only of what her beloved was doing to her, of the pleasures he gave. She watched him as his hands and mouth danced over her, as he loomed above her, opening her. Some part of her realized what he was about to do and screamed at her, setting off her mental alarms, jarring her out of her trance. She pushed him away with both hands. 

"Stop." She squirmed away, keeping him at arm's length.

"Delenn . . ." His voice was low, full of desire, his expression hurt. "I need you." Her body yearned for his touch, for him to finish what he'd started. She turned away, gasping, trying to regain control.

"Not yet," she managed. "Not now." She crawled away from him, sliding to the cold floor. The temperature did much to cool her blood. She lay there, just breathing, trying to calm her racing heart. She could hear him moving above her, shifting on the bed, searching for her. She ignored him, calming her mind for meditation, for prayer.

* * *

When she was once again calm, she stood, turning to find John. He was sprawled on the bed, asleep. She climbed in beside him, snuggling close. His arms wrapped around her, and she fell asleep listening to his heartbeat. 


	9. 9

Delenn sighed as the door to their quarters closed. It seemed like centuries since she had last had a truly quiet moment to herself. Between the Shadow War, the Vorlon's role in that conflict, Earth's civil war, John's forced resignation from EarthForce, the formation of the new Interstellar Alliance, and his subsequent appointment as its President, Delenn was surprised that he'd actually taken the time and effort of arranging their wedding. It was thoughtful of him, she had to admit that. Still, part of her wished he could have waited. There were so many rituals still to be performed. She wanted this done right, and she felt rushed, swept along before she was ready, lost in the currents of Time, her only anchor torn from her. Yes, she loved him, and knew he loved her in return. Yes, she wanted to be married to him, to spend the rest of her life with him. But it was all happening so fast. She was learning about Human customs, but she felt she was losing touch with her own Minbari heritage. She no longer understood herself – if she ever had. Dimming the lights, she lit a candle and settled in to  
meditate.

* * *

John stepped into the quarters he now shared with his wife, his mind on his plans for the rest of the evening. He thought the small, simple wedding had gone off well – Delenn's expression of surprise and pure joy when she finally understood what was happening had been priceless. It had been all he could do to keep from taking her then and there, so passionate had been her response, her total surrender as he kissed her. Smiling, he headed straight for the bathroom to change, not even noticing Delenn sitting in the corner, still as a statue, watching her candle as it burned low.

* * *

"Delenn?" John's voice intruded on her thoughts. She was barely aware of him as he sat next to her, almost touching. "Delenn?" Slowly, reluctantly, she focused on him, the calm she'd found slipping away. He touched her shoulder, lightly, and she looked at him. "Come to bed, love. It's been a long day." He got up, expecting her to follow. When she didn't, he turned back. "Come." He held out his hands to help her up. She blew out the candle and took his hands. In one smooth movement, he pulled her up and caught her to him, bending down for a kiss. She turned away at the last moment. "What's wrong?" She didn't answer, only leaned against him. He guided her into the bedroom before letting her go. She turned slowly and disappeared into the bathroom, locking the door behind her.

He didn't understand, couldn't understand. For a moment, Delenn wished Lennier were here, to talk to. He would understand . . . and if he didn't, he would simply give her that worshipful look and say, "Understanding is not required, only obedience." She shook her head, banishing the thought. Her beloved aide had no place in her thoughts tonight. Tonight was her wedding night, and there were only two people who mattered now: herself, and her husband. Closing her eyes and taking a deep, calming breath, she began a modified version of one of the last courtship rituals – the preparation for the wedding night.

* * *

Delenn stepped into the bedroom, smiling and serene. The ritual cleansing had done much to calm her. Now, wearing nothing but a simple robe, she approached her husband. He looked up from where he sat on the bed, smiled, and reached for her. She stepped back, just out of reach, and beckoned him to join her. Puzzled, he stood, opening his mouth to ask a question. She touched his lips with her fingers, silencing him. Taking his hand, she led him back into the living room. She settled herself on the floor, pulling him down until he sat across from her. Again, he tried to speak, and again she silenced him. She watched him for long moments, studying him, waiting to see if he would try to say something. He didn't. That was good; nothing should interfere with this, especially not words. She touched his face lightly, tracing his features. He simply waited, not really understanding. Her fingers drifted down, caressing him. She shifted closer to him, sliding her hands under his shirt.

* * *

The only part of her she allowed to touch him was her hands. When she had touched every inch of him, she sat back, not touching, not speaking, just watching him. She met his eyes as he sat up, calling him to do what she had done. He moved to kiss her, and she stopped him, reading the disappointment in his eyes. Maybe she should have explained this first . . . but it was too late now. It was already begun; to stop now was to – no. She would not think of it.

His touch distracted her from her unpleasant thoughts. He was just as thorough as she had been as he undressed her, his hands caressing her skin. He may not have understood, but he did learn fast. She leaned into his touch, allowed him to push her onto her back, rearranging her limbs until she lay, perfectly helpless, beneath his gaze. He knelt above her, leaned down to kiss her, and hesitated, waiting for her to stop him. When she didn't, he kissed her, hard. He claimed her, then, and she communicated her surrender. It wasn't enough, though, and he caught her wrists, tangling her hands in a piece of discarded clothing and pressing them firmly to the deck above her head. She got the message – don't move. He then proceeded to give her every pleasure imaginable.

* * *

Delenn found it difficult not to move. John had not forgotten how to please her, how to make her squirm. His touch was distracting, and she wanted nothing more than to touch him in return, as she had before. But she couldn't free her hands – to do so would require a great deal more concentration on the problem than she could muster. He manipulated her, touching, stroking, caressing, and she existed only where and when he touched her.

One hand caught her wrists, pinning them. He lay on top of her, touching her entire body at once. He kissed her, and she kissed him back, eager, full of fire. He shifted above her, adjusting, then covered her again. She gasped at the difference. _Now_ she understood how it could be better. His hands continued to touch her as he moved, and she moved with him. Her world narrowed until it consisted only of the sensations he caused. Pleasure became pain became pleasure in an unending cycle, overwhelming her senses. She was aware of him calling her name as she blacked out.

* * *

"Delenn?" The gentle concern in his voice made her smile. "Well, if you can smile, you must be awake." She giggled and opened her eyes. John was stretched out next to her, not quite touching. She pulled him in for a kiss which left them both breathless. "Have I told you, my beautiful wife, how much I love you?"

She snuggled up to him. "I think so." She thought about it. "On second thought, I'm not so sure. Why don't you tell me again?"

"I," he kissed her nose, "love," he kissed her lips, "you," and he touched her most sensitive spot. She gasped, clinging to him.

"Mmmmm." He kissed her. "I love you, too." They kissed again, and somehow words were unnecessary.


	10. Lennier

Lennier stared at Sheridan through the reinforced glass of the pressure door. He could see the injured Ranger, the deadly gas filling the chamber. He knew exactly what the other was asking, what the right thing to do was. His hand hovered over the controls for a long moment.

_What if he dies?_ Lennier wondered. _With Sheridan out of the way, could I win her heart?_ Sheridan looked like he was starting to panic. Lennier dropped his hand, took one last look at his beloved's husband, and fled.

* * *

_If he dies, it will be your fault,_ his conscience spoke as he ran. _She'll never forgive you. She'll give you that tragic, martyred look and send you away. Far away, so she'll never have to look at her husband's murderer again._

_Murderer? But I didn't touch him! I didn't do anything!_

_Exactly. You didn't do anything, and he'll die because of it. Can you live with yourself, knowing you condemned a good, honest man to his death?_

"I can't!" Lennier turned and ran back the way he'd come. Turning the corner, he saw Sheridan and the injured Ranger sprawled in the corridor, others rushing to their aid. He could only watch, horrified. Delenn appeared at his side, asking what happened. _I left him to die,_ he whispered in his mind. _I left him to die, and he knows it. He'll tell her, and she'll hate me forever._ He took one last look at his beloved, then, for the second time in less than five minutes, fled.

* * *

The blackness of space beckoned him, promising to erase his troubles, a promise he knew to be false. It didn't matter. He had to leave. The comm unit came alive as she begged him to stay, to return, to explain. To be forgiven. He couldn't forgive himself; how could he expect her to forgive him? He turned the comm off, silencing her voice. He didn't know where he was going, and he didn't care. Without her, he was nothing, less than nothing, and in one moment of weakness he had lost her forever. Tears blurred his vision. Part of him wanted nothing more than to fly into the sun, or crash into something, anything to end his pain. But that would be dishonorable, and he couldn't do that. All he could do was run, as far and as fast as he could manage. The navigation system alerted him to the presence of a jump gate, asking if he wanted to activate it. He must have said yes, because the jump point formed, pulling him through. He entered a random set of coordinates, programmed the computer to find the next small colony or outpost, and set the autopilot. He cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Civilization. Or what passed for civilization, out here by the Rim. But it had a tachyon relay system, and that was all Lennier needed. He had to call her, hear her voice, see her face one more time before he truly exiled himself. He found a secluded corner and activated the portable comm unit.

It was an eternity before she appeared before him. She brushed aside his stumbling apologies, saying it didn't matter anymore. Begging him to return. She needed him? He doubted it. Even if it were true, she sure had a funny way of showing it. She reached out to touch him, as she always had, pain in her eyes. With a strangled sob, he closed the transmission. He could never return. Nothing he could possibly do would atone for his one moment of weakness – of madness. He had promised her he would return when he had redeemed himself, but that moment would never come. If he could forgive himself, he would go back – but he couldn't, and that was why he had left. Broken in mind, heart, and soul, he returned to his ship, to the blackness of space. To solitude, and the agony that went with it.


End file.
